


Between Two Barren Wastes of Snow

by Catheryne



Category: Gossip Girl
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2018-12-27 13:52:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12082353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catheryne/pseuds/Catheryne
Summary: She was the main character in the story of a breakup that Chuck created. But instead of settling into a new plot, Chuck finds he cannot stay away.





	1. Chapter 1

**Part 1**

The last time he was close to her, enough to breathe her perfume, with distance small enough that he could reach out and cup her jawbone with his hands…

_Her nails dug into his arms, so deep he bled. She clawed at his wrists and pulled. She was terrified. Terrified. And he was squeezing, barely moved from where he straddled her and pinned her to the bed._

_His fingers made marks on the skin of her neck._

_Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, and he pushed deep with his thumbs until she choked and coughed and gasped. Until her entire face held a tinge of gray blue._

He ripped his gaze away from the television screen.

"Mr Bass, your uncle is here to see you."

He could avoid the man, utter a few curt words. He could ask building security never to allow Jack back inside the office. But he had already done it and it bought him forty eight hours before a group of lawyers on his own payroll had done their job and contested the demand.

_Her hair moved. Those thin strands, the locks that had fallen out of the French bun. They moved like they were trembling. Her lips were parted, and he could tell she was breathing through her mouth. Her eyes were full, and the way she looked would be seared in his brain months afterwards._

" _Tell me what I did," she pleaded._

_And he held her gaze, kept himself strong and unrelenting because this was the only way both of them could survive. No matter to him that when she reached for him, to place a hand on his chest, he moved away like he was terrified of her touch._

_Outside, the Bass limo rolled into a stop. He looked up, and she barely turned in her seat. He watched the mute scene from behind the glass doors of the restaurant._

_Jack Bass made a spectacle when he entered. At the sight of Chuck and Blair, those thin lips curved into a smirk. The sight of the man revolted him, but he had returned and still had as much right to his share of the business as he had before._

" _If you're not going to tell me what I did, then tell me how to fix it," she said. "Because I will. I promise."_

" _Desperation doesn't become you," Chuck returned._

_The hand that reached for him fisted, and she cringed. Slowly, she drew her hand back to her side of the table. And it was good. All the better. He did not need that touch. One touch and it would unravel._

_She stood stiffly, clutched her purse to her front like it was her shield. He could tell that she was struggling not to blink. He did the same, and for the very same reason. If they blinked, if their eyes so much as wavered, then the tears that threatened would fall._

_He was afraid. And he knew at any time she could say those words, and despite the many times he thought of them he was still unprepared to respond._

" _So this is it?" she asked, or said. He could not even tell._

" _This is it. It was fun," he managed, and kept his voice even, smooth._

_She started to turn away, and his shoulders fell because they could now. There was no need to pretend. But she stopped, and then with her eyebrows furrowed, in confusion, in anger. "I thought you loved me."_

" _I gave you everything," he returned._

_And for that, she gave him a smile, a bitter one, and even that he would remember tonight. "Well," she said, sarcasm not a tinge but an overwhelming wash, "thank you, Chuck. I appreciated all of it."_

_She hurried away, in the way she quickly strode when humiliated and found. Many times before he followed her, rushed after her, spoke to her with an effort to soothe the hurt. But this time he was the one who inflicted it on her, had fully meant to, had planned to let her walk._

_His uncle stepped in front of her, and she stopped in her tracks. Chuck watched the way that Jack closed his hand around her elbow. She pulled away. Of course she would. Blair Waldorf was intelligent enough to know that he still watched. But Jack held firm, leaned low to whisper in her ear._

_Firmly, she pulled her arm out of Jack's grasp. Chuck relaxed in his seat and fixed his gaze on Jack._

_He did not need to look at her. Even while he saw Jack turn to him and raise a glass of wine in acknowledgment, he could tell the precise moment she vanished into a car._

Jack tossed the thick folder onto his desk. Chuck picked it up, then leaned back in his chair. The first page, the second, the third. He flipped through the report like it was cheap fodder from national tabloids.

"We spent three hundred grand on consultants to get that study," he vaguely heard.

But he flipped through the pages. The charts and numbers made no sense to him. Not now. So Chuck dropped the folder back onto his desk. He looked up at his uncle, then said, "I'll get to it later. You're dismissed."

Jack's eyes narrowed. He picked up the folder, then informed him, "I'll return with these when you have time."

The audio from the television played, and the particular voice was familiar. Chuck glanced up at the plasma high up near the ceiling. Jack looked up in the same direction.

"Stalking your stepsister," Jack said aloud. He shook his head, chuckled. "You are sicker than I thought."

A video of Serena stepping out of a limo and making her way into Bergdorf's. Like always, she was exposed more than he cared. But Bergdorf's was much too close, not where he needed Serena to be.

_Spend a little time with her, why don't you?_

"Get out, Jack." Chuck took the remote in his hand and switched off the television.

But Jack was not done. He never was. They should have pressed charges when he assaulted Lily, so that Jack never darkened their door again. But they had made that mistake and they were now paying for it.

His uncle leaned over the desk, then said, "She doesn't know. I was wondering why you broke it off with her. Apparently, she was too. You didn't give her a reason, Chuck?"

"It's none of your business."

"Poor girl, though. She's always going to wonder. Maybe I should put the question to rest," Jack offered.

It was a test of his patience and his uncle had succeeded. Chuck knew better than this, but even so he shot up from his seat and grabbed the front of Jack's jacket. He pulled close, so that he could spit his response into his uncle's face. "Stay away from her."

"You're not together anymore," Jack reminded him. The man jerked his head towards the black plasma screen. "You're stuck in here watching Serena van der Woodsen. What do you care?"

"If you're not going to leave on your own, I will call security and have them escort you out."

"I have a right to be here," Jack returned. "You own lawyers told you that." But like a Bass, Jack knew when to surrender. He shrugged. Chuck watched his back as he left.

His cellphone vibrated on the top of his desk. He saw the screen light up. If the call had been for work, then it would have been filtered by his secretary. Instead, Chuck stared at the name on the screen.

He could let it go to voicemail.

But he would hear the same thing. He pushed the answer button, then held the phone to his ear.

There was no need to say hello. She knew exactly the moment he answered the same way he knew exactly who it was.

Silence. There were times when he heard her breathing, times when he let her hear him. It was wordless. But he held the phone close to his ear, pressed the cold keypad next to his cheek. The time on the clock was quarter to two, and he had exactly twelve minutes of this before she would hang up and leave.

She had Ethics at two, and a few months ago she brought all the rhetorical, unending questions to bed. Sometimes he wished she would ask him another question, and he could mull over the words and search his brain for an answer. And then he would not feel so stupid about the fact that he had nothing, because no one else in the world could say he knew the right response.

But it had been a long time now, and even Blair Waldorf tired.

At one fifty seven, on the dot, he heard the beep, then a silence that was more silent than the silence before. So silent it was hell of deafening.

He had sworn he deleted them, but Chuck Bass found himself lying more and more everyday.

He played the voice messages, put the cellphone on speaker, then leaned back in his seat. He closed his eyes, so he could conjure up an image of her in his head.

"It's not blue, Chuck. I checked again. It's an off shade of green. It looks like you lose this bet. Get your driver's uniform and pick me up at five tomorrow. I'm thinking—a chauffer who just can't keep his hands off his employer."

His lips twitched. He had waited for her outside her dorm. At the sight of him she placed her hands on her waist and tapped her foot on the steps, then told him he was late and instructed him to carry her bag. They had not left the limo for three hours and had to drive back to New York at past nine.

"The professor is out sick. It's my only class for the day! This is such a waste. I knew I shouldn't have gotten up from bed this morning. You were right."

He took the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, then started massaging.

"Sorry I didn't call earlier. I'm running late. Talk to you later. Love you."

He took a deep breath. That was the day he had a presentation for the investor he was wooing. He had not even heard the message until it was well past ten.

"I'm not coming home for the weekend. My nose is stuffed and my eyes keep tearing up. This is an allergy. I'm allergic to damned Whore-gina. She's gone for the weekend so I'll just stay here and be miserable."

He surprised her with a visit that night, discovered she had like always been exaggerating about being allergic to Georgina but completely accurate with the miserable colds. So Chuck had pointed out that allergy symptoms did not include a slight fever and continuous runny nose even when the allergen was away. So he helped her bundle up in bed and asked her driver to buy her soup, then spent the rest of the night breathing in her virus while spooning behind her and watching reality tv.

He gripped the armrest of his chair, knowing what came next but frozen and masochistic enough not to turn it off.

"Talk to me. Tell me what I did. It can't be that easy or that fast."

One.

"Chuck, please, don't do this. I know you're there. Answer the phone."

Two.

"Dammit, Chuck, I swear to God if you don't give me a reason I will hate you forever."

Three.

"I don't hate you. I don't. I just—I don't understand. What happened?" A breath. "I'm sorry." A sob. "Whatever it is, I am."

Four.

Dozens more. And they were depressing, and angry, and loud, and shrill, and sympathetic, and scary. She went up, down, but she remained. Dozens more, and he had watched in silence and kept close tabs on his stepsister because it was the only way he could discover glimpses of her without breaking his promise.

And then he ventured out into the world with a banker's daughter, planted a kiss on a stranger's lips right where he knew she would see.

_He hit the accept button, and held the phone to his ear. He could hear the hitch in her breath, and he cleared his throat. "Blair—"_

" _I'll stop. Okay? I will. I can do it. I stopped loving Nate for you. I stopped loving Marcus for you. I don't know how, but I can stop loving you too."_

" _So don't talk about it," he said. He imagined his father's collector Victorian pistol lovingly cold, resting in his hand. He raised it to his temple. Squeezed. "Do it."_

And that was when the silence began.

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2**

It started with one dream. Like many things in life it started with one dream, and freewheeled and rolled and gathered until it was a force so unstoppable his own brain could not control it.

The dream—the nightmare—started the day that the Bass company lawyer had reluctantly informed him of the legal ramifications of keeping Jack away. Chuck prided himself in his control. He did lose it, did not throw a fit, would not allow his baser instincts to get the better of him. But the information came after months of dealing with the problem and throwing weeks and money into ensuring that Jack would stay in Australia.

"He attacked my stepmother!" he argued.

But the lawyer shook his head, and said in a logical manner, in a tone so tempered it frustrated Chuck even more, "But Lily Bass did not file charges against him. If you keep him from Bass, he can sue you."

"I'm paying you enough that you should be expected to get rid of lawsuits like that."

The man scratched his head, then said, "He's the CEO of Bass Australia. Sir, he can use your legal resources anytime."

"You're working for him?" Chuck clarified in a whisper.

"Mr Bass—Jack—He has a valid claim, and he's presented us with documents—emails from your father sharing his concerns about your inheriting the company. Unfortunately, your father died after the last email, so Jack is now challenging the will."

By the time the lawyer scurried back out of the office, Chuck was gripping his phone. And then, he was dialing, just because he was trembling with fury and choking in frustration.

"Waldorf," he said into the phone.

"I didn't expect you to call now," she answered in a hushed voice. "Wait. I'll slip out of class."

"No, it's fine. Stay."

"You don't sound fine. Just wait a bit."

_He had bought the dress for her. The hem teased her thighs in just the way he knew it would when he first saw it hanging on the static form. He knew it would fit Blair from yards away, even before he placed his hands around the plastic mannequin to test the cloth. He purchased it before they even placed the dress in his hands._

_He had bought the dress for her, because he knew how she would look in it. The old rose tinge was just the perfect reflection of her. In his eyes she was classic, and feminine, dainty and resilient._

_He watched from the balcony, up on the second floor, and saw her make her way out the door. She must have been looking for her, so he placed his glass of scotch on the cement railing. He opened his mouth to call her name._

_Before he could, she turned around, her dress reflecting tiny pinpricks of light in the darkness. He almost felt her excitement when her back straightened and her shoulders shot up._

" _Blair Waldorf," he heard a voice say, eerily familiar, abhorred, feared._

_And she raised her arms, then greeted, "Finally. I thought you'd never come back."_

_And she was in Jack's arms, her legs shifting and sliding out of the old rose he had chosen just for her. Her legs wrapped around Jack's waist, and her arms strong and firm around his neck._

_It was ridiculous, like wading in a raging river. He stormed down the stairs burning with blinding fury, but he knew, he knew, he ridiculously knew even then that it was a nightmare and that nothing was real. But even then he could not help the gasping terror that filled him._

"What's wrong?" she had asked that afternoon, when she took his call and cut the class she had sworn she would get an A in.

And he had managed not to pause, and told her, "Jack's back."

"Jack," she repeated, at a loss for words the way he knew she would be. Because she had never said sorry, and they had brushed him away like so much lint. But Jack was back, certainly more than a lint, more than someone that would just vanish into the Pacific Ocean so they could live their lives in peace.

And all he could offer her back was, "Yes. Jack, Blair."

The half a minute before she spoke seemed longer. When she did respond, it was another brush, another effort to forget. "You know what? The lecture I stepped out of is going to be covered in an exam on Friday."

"I see," he said softly. "Then you better go back."

"I should," she said tentatively.

So he waited, and listened to her breathing. When she would not say more, he turned off the phone and returned to his work.

_He dragged her by her hair across the garden, and she did not scream. He pushed her down on the hard ground, and she did not cry. So he stumbled down on his knees beside her and looked down at her, his face inches from hers._

" _Why aren't you begging?" he spat._

" _Because you're not going to hurt me," she returned, her voice calm._

" _Fucking cry!" he demanded, and she shook her head. So he drew back his arm, gritted his teeth._

" _No."_

It started with one.

It never ended. One turned to two and two to five dozen. Every night, every sleep, every time he dozed, it was another way, another process, but it all ended the same.

_Her skin was bruised, bloody. She lay still with her hair fanned out under her head. The garden was pebbled and the white stones shone. They were cold. The stone in his hand was cold. He glanced down at it and saw the white stone matted by some brown fluid. He brought it up close to his face and saw the strands of dark hair stuck on the surface._

_And so, slowly, his gaze shifted to her face._

_He eyes were empty now, staring back at him in the same calm stare._

_And then, to his horror, he realized she was half naked in the shredded old rose dress. Her shoulders were grimy with the garden soil. And blood, blood was creating a horrific pool under her head, and it got larger and larger until it seeped down through the pebbles and into the discarded pair of his own pants._

" _You didn't apologize," he said, in the fucking nightmare that was so real and so imaginary that he knew every moment was in his head._

"You're not with Blair," he stated into the phone. "Do you even know where she is?"

If he knew his stepsister, and by this time he was sure he had Serena down pat, then she would be sitting up and taking offense at his question. Sure enough, Serena exclaimed, "I'm not your slave, Chuck. And I'm not going to spy on my best friend for you."

"Do you know where she is?" he demanded again, his mind on one track and would not be derailed.

"She's at school. Of course she's at school. Where do you expect her to be?" And then, she paused. "You broke up with her out of nowhere and you're the one scampering for information. You know what, Chuck? You're the trainwreck—not me."

~o~o~o~o~

The first time he met Blair Waldorf—really met Blair Waldorf—she had been slumped on the floor broken and humiliated by her mother's obvious preference of another girl.

The second time he met Blair Waldorf, she was insecure and breathless, about to make the biggest mistake of her life right on his very own rooftop.

He never met the real Blair Waldorf again after that. Instead, he met some versions of Blair. There was that perfect Blair in that perfect relationship she recreated with Nate. There was that Blair who had been caught up in her honeymoon with Chuck Bass, who barely spared anyone else a glance unless she needed them for taking down Carter Baizen or Georgina Sparks.

But they were attending the same school now, and he knew he would run into her eventually. When he started seeing Georgie, he avoided her as much as possible. But NYU was small, and Blair Waldorf was large—larger than life—larger than many other girls he knew. When she was around, no matter how tiny she was—she was large in his eyes.

And so the third time he met Blair Waldorf, she was in the dorm room when he expected her out and Georgie in there. He had not expected to meet the real Blair Waldorf then. He had not physically or psychologically prepared for it.

"I'm sorry," Dan stammered. "I'll let myself out."

She looked up from her book, and Dan stopped in his tracks when he saw her eyes red and sore. "Humphrey," she said in a way that was so uniquely hers that even something as simple as his name was delivered like an accusation.

And he wanted to plead guilty to it, because her expression was so proud and stubborn and so much like a victim, and say, "Yes. I am Humphrey."

"Sorry to disturb you."

"Georgina's not here," she stated.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then cleared his throat and hesitantly said, "I can see that." He used his thumb to point to the door. "So I'm just going to go."

"Then go. I don't care," she said. Blair Waldorf raised her book to cover her face, but he could see the way the book trembled.

Normal books did not tremble by themselves, and Dan doubted that she was rich enough to buy a book that had a life of its own, let alone a living book that was depressed and sniffling to boot. So as much as he wanted to leave, he found himself doing the same thing he did every time he met the real Blair Waldorf. Thankfully, it did not happen more than once a year, and this could be it for this year.

Dan took a few steps towards her. She lowered her book then glared at him. "I don't have any weapons," he said, showing her that his hands were clear.

"The weapon's in your head," she said. "Don't think Chuck hasn't told me about how you used his weak moment to write about him."

"I won't write about you," he said, although the statement gave him a bit of pride. "Whatever's got you bothered is probably not as enthralling as the deep dark secrets of the Bass family."

She flinched, and he caught it and wanted to apologize. But he stopped himself because there was no need to. Blair pointedly ignored his presence and returned to her book. Dan wished he was like her, and he could just ignore her and go back to his day.

"So is this about Chuck?"

"You don't know anything about me, Humphrey, so just get out of here. Your Whore-gina isn't around."

He scratched the shell of his ear, because he did not need the abuse. So he cursed his father and his mother for raising him in such a way that even at the onslaught of Blair's attack, he still remained. It was probably due to his parents staying together for so long after the marriage should have ended. He blamed Lily for inviting Chuck to family dinners so much that the man became less of a spoiled asshole and more human.

"I heard that you and Chuck broke up."

"I don't want to talk about it," she said quietly. "I have a book review to write and you're not helping at all. He's a jerk. He broke up with me. I can do better than him. I heard it all before, Humphrey, and from people who matter more than you do."

Well at least he mattered, even though he mattered least in her list of people.

"Heard that from Nate and Serena, huh?" he said, settling into a conversation with the cover of her book.

She did not answer, but turned the page.

So he chuckled softly.

She lowered her book, placed it on her lap. Her eyes narrowed. "You think this is funny," she said, not a question.

"It's ridiculous," he informed her. "Chuck Bass is in love with you. You know it; he knows it. Hell, I know it, and I'm not exactly a confidante." He gestured towards her face as evidence. "So this is just one of those ways you keep the relationship from getting boring. I heard about it."

Looking back at it, Dan would say that it was a bad idea. Hindsight was twenty twenty. But for the brief moment that Blair lit up and sat up on the bed, it had been worth it. She wiped at her cheeks, and Dan discovered then that the real Blair Waldorf was not necessarily the severely depressed and insecure one he encountered once a year. The real Blair was the one who was open, who did not have the shield up.

"You really think so?" she said in a firm, insistent voice.

"I really think so," he told her.

She stood up from the bed, on the other side, and her blanket slid down to the floor. Dan turned his gaze away when he discovered the very small and tight pair of shorts she wore with her tank. She bent down, fumbling for something on the floor.

"Blair," he called out tentatively.

"I can't find my phone," she muttered.

So Dan Humphrey, as unwelcome as he was in the dorm room, was on all fours the next minute and then reaching under the bed. After a few seconds contemplating what he was doing there, his hand closed around the hard, cold object. He handed it to her.

"Call him. Tell him you discovered the game and it has to stop."

She dialed, and she gave him a smile.

He assessed her bloodshot eyes and the cheeks that were noticeably sunken. But Chuck Bass would not let a game go as far as this, he thought. She hit the speakerphone, and Dan suddenly wanted to grab it and end the call.

"Why are you calling again?" Dan heard Chuck's voice from the tiny phone. "I thought I told you, Blair. It's over."

"I know it's a game, Chuck. It's not funny anymore. Chuck, please. It's been too long—"

Blair's eyes rose and met his, and Dan realized how very wrong he was. "How pathetic are you willing to go, Waldorf? I said we're done."

And there was a click.

Told him that the call was over. That Chuck was done.

They were done.

"Look," he said in a rush, "I'm sor—"

She turned her face away, blinked, and he knew he had to leave because she was going to do something she was not willing to let him see. She gestured to the door, and Dan dragged his feet towards the exit. When the door slammed behind him, he heard the thump, the muffled cry.

Wondered if it was the last time he saw the real Blair Waldorf.

It wasn't a week later, in a party he got dragged into by people from his class, out in the fraternity house that would have snubbed him for his background had his father not been engaged to Lily, that he saw, once again, a new version of her.

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 3**

_Her skin was just the way he remembered it._

_Her thighs, her hands, the curve of her neck, the dip just under her lower lip._

_She was everything he remembered, all that he touched and memorized. Everything that was Blair was clear and captured._

_And his brain was frozen in a silent scream. The photographs were laid out in such neat, organized precision on his desk. It was as though the hands that touched them lovingly brushed on the gloss. He could see smudges of fingers just right above where her mouth was open in the corner picture; a smudge right by her breast, another on the shot of her ass. In every one of the photos there was another hand, another mouth, and she was pressed behind another man._

_The door opened, and he slowly looked up because even though it was all so real he wished it was a nightmare._

_And there she was, with the same glossy lips, the same heavy-lidded eyes. She gave him a small smile, but all he could see was her mouth parted while Jack's hand crept under her dress. "I came as soon as I could," she explained. "You sounded awful on the phone." And then, when he was quiet, she added, "So Jack's back."_

_And for a little while his hand twitched, needing to grab her tongue and crush it for ever mentioning that name._

_On the third picture at the topmost row, Jack's tongue was fat against the lobe of her right ear._

" _Are you okay?"_

_Who was going to be fine when sitting in front of that storyboard?_

_She sighed, and her breasts heaved under the silk of her blouse. Two photos below the tongue, Jack's mouth latched onto her nipple from over her clothes. And for that one second he wondered what it would be like to slam his first into her chest and feel bone break under his knuckles._

_He was a fucking maniac; and never even knew. Not until her._

" _You look a bit pale," she commented. He stiffened when she stepped closer, and he wanted to hiss at her to stay back. But his throat was tight and no sound came. "Chuck—"_

_She was only a few steps away, when he saw even the tiniest glint in her eye when light reflected on a photograph._

" _What are those?" she asked. And she came close. Oddly enough he did not feel the need to stop her, felt instead a titillating curiosity for her reaction. He kept his eyes on her face. He did not need to see more of the pictures, yet at the same time even with his gaze on her all he could see were those pictures._

" _Chuck," she said nervously as he saw the pictures one by one. She snatched one up, then another. "Oh my God!" She turned to him, and now the glint in her eyes was not the light. "What are you doing with these?"_

_And right then he wanted to gather the pictures into a ball and stuff them inside her mouth. Her open mouth while Jack trailed kisses on her neck. Her shameless mouth that just the night before kissed him, whispered she loved him._

" _Where did you get these?" she demanded. And then she dropped the pictures, clapped a hand over her mouth. "Jack."_

_The name. The name. That dirty mouth that could say the name._

" _Throw it away!" she cried._

_He contained the trembling fury, then gathered the photographs just like she asked. Because that was what he did. Since he began the relationship he had made her happy. However that's achieved, he had promised. And that was always what he did._

" _Throw them away, Chuck!"_

_So he crumpled them one by one and resisted the urge to throw them at her face. And he dropped them all into the trash bin. She glared at the silver can, almost like her stare could cause it to combust._

" _Those are from last year," she whispered._

_And he thought as much. He had known as much. But he had never seen as much. His retinas would sear off._

" _He's trying to take you down," she said in a rush. He looked down at the balled photos and congratulated his uncle. When a Bass man fights, he throws it down. But he was not ready for her, not prepared for more. "That's what he's doing." And he belatedly noticed the voice coming closer._

_And he could see still Jack pressed up behind her, so he raised a hand to stay her. His hand connected with her face, and he stopped. Noticed the cut on her lip and saw the blossoming blood. She looked up at him, raised a finger to where it stung. And immediately he offered the folded handkerchief from his pocket, then dabbed on the wound._

" _I'm sorry," he choked out finally._

_She nodded, then grasped his hand to stop him. He looked down at the blood on his white handkerchief. "Look at me." He did, and saw her watery eyes pleading. "This isn't going to affect us. Jack—Jack happened a long time ago. You know that. He doesn't matter."_

_He breathed._

" _Tell me it won't affect us," she repeated._

_She still didn't apologize, he thought. But he loved her more than he hated Jack; loved her more than he felt anything for anyone. And he would make her happy, however that was achieved._

_So he promised her, "It won't."_

_That night, he removed his jacket before bed. The white handkerchief dropped on the bed, and he flinched at the droplets of blood. The shower was running, because she was off from school the next day and she spent those nights with him. The bathroom door opened, and she stepped outside with her hair still wet._

_The pictures were gone, but he could see as clearly as if they were stapled on her robe—Jack's fingers buried in her hair._

" _I love you," he said to her._

_She smiled. In surprise. In relief._

_Blair walked over to him and placed a hand on his chest. "I love you too."_

_That night she slept in his arms, and he breathed in the scent of her shampoo with his lips buried in her hair._

_That was the first night he dreamed of killing her._

He thought that maybe it was because he was living in a house that Bart Bass built. Or maybe it was just that Serena had guilted him into a tentative understanding of her best friend. Maybe it was the heartbreaking story that Chuck once fed him about his mother.

Dan suspected it had something to do with the girl herself.

The party had been packed and loud. Receiving the invitation to the party for a fraternity as exclusive and influential as the Alpha Phi Omega was an accomplishment little people from Brooklyn could only dream of. By a stroke of luck, Dan received the invitation and was more than happy to attend. Getting pledged into the fraternity was his ticket to a comfortable, if not lucrative, career in the future. The editors of the largest papers in the country were alumni. Publishers, news anchors, politicians, financiers. The biggest and the best were on the walls of the Alpha Phi Omega house.

"Dan Humphrey!"

Dan turned and saw another man, who carried himself much like the way Nate did, and pegged him at once as a politician's son—or grandson. "Kyle Harris," he introduced himself.

"Kyle—Kyle Harris?" Dan clarified. "Son of Peter Harris."

"The one and only," Kyle said. "But don't let that fool you. I'm not a Republican."

Dan pointedly looked around him, then nodded. "I should think not," he commented.

His head was whirling at the welcome, and knew this was the ticket. He had one foot in the door, and he hardly even cared if this was from Georgina or from the fact that his father married Lily Bass. He was even hoping that it could be because he had made his own name in the school. He was going to pledge and be initiated into this fraternity, and he would make a future for himself.

"So what does a guy have to do to become a part of all this?"

And who cared if there were women dancing on couches, or freshmen barfing into garbage cans? He even turned a blind eye to a blond man with a loosened pink tie crushing little pills with a spoon and making his own mystery drink.

"You impress Jeff March," Kyle said, indicating the blonde that Dan had just tried to ignore. The name rang heavily of a network giant, and he realized he was looking at the last surviving grandson of a movie and tv tycoon. "He's president." And then Kyle found a newcomer, waved and nodded, then excused himself. And so early on he realized he was not so special after all.

"Dan Humphrey."

He frowned, because he recognized the voice. But there was no way for her to make it here, nor would she be interested in an affair like that. Blair Waldorf's voice was hers and hers alone, so he turned and found himself staring down at Blair.

In the khaki shorts and loose top, which he knew was branded even without looking at the label, she almost looked like she fit in.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

And the smile was the first that tipped him off. "I'm glad to see you too, Humphrey." He heard someone say her name, and when she turned there was a slight stumble. Just a little. Enough that he reached out immediately to grab her arm but not enough for her to fall.

"Jeff March," he recognized as the blonde approached with a drink in his hand. Dan's eyes narrowed at the glass, and noticed the still floating powder barely dissolved in the liquid.

Blair accepted the drink, and tipped a little into her mouth. "Aren't you lucky, Brooklyn. Turns out I'm dating the president."

So it was likely Lily, or Serena, or the fact that he knew and understood Chuck by now. Or it could it be the girl herself. The next thing he knew, he had snatched the glass from Blair Waldorf and in his rush placed it too close to the edge of a table. It fell, then crashed onto the floor, spilling the liquid on the tiles.

"What the hell?"

He grabbed her arm, then pulled her by his side. Jeff March grabbed the front of his shirt.

"Dan!" Blair complained.

"We're leaving."

"The hell you are," the blonde spat.

Dan raised a finger. "Try anything, or I will have the police over here to check for drugs." He glanced at Blair, noticed her now blinking and shaking her head.

"What's your name?"

"Dan Humphrey."

"Kiss Alpha Phi goodbye."

She was falling asleep even before they made it to her dorm room, so he took a detour and slipped her into his instead. He helped his to his bed and passed the time by putting Conan in the background and looking through his notes. Better review as early as he could, because he was going to need the As if he was going to make his own way in the world. Alpha Phi was out anyway.

When she woke up, he had a trash can ready. Blair Waldorf turned to her side and he held the can for her when she heaved pungent liquid. He held his breath and almost choked keeping his own bile inside.

And then she collapsed back on the bed and glared at him. "You realize you just ruined all your chances of getting into that fraternity."

"You realize you owe me big time. I just saved you from getting date raped," he retorted.

"You're stupid," she whispered. "He wanted me."

"Believe me. Jeff March didn't want you. A guy who wants you wouldn't need to drug you. He'll work to earn his way in," he told her. "Chuck Bass gave you your dream prom."

But words like those only served to inflame her, he realized, because then her mouth was plastered on his and he could taste alcohol and her vomit on his tongue. And for a sick minute he pressed his lips back against hers and held his breath. But then, he placed his hands on her arms and pulled himself away.

"This isn't right," he said.

Her face. If a face could be broken, then this was how it would look. He was a writer, not a painter, and the only word he could think of was broken.

"What? You don't want me either?"

Like Nate did not want her. He wanted Serena. Serena confessed the story. And Marcus, he knew, had wanted Katherine.

But Chuck Bass…

He never did get that answer.

"I know someone who wanted you."

She turned her back on him, but she was in his bed so he had no option but to sit back by the table with his notes. He heard the sniffling, and knew that tomorrow when she left she would act like tonight never happened. She dialed the phone. He heard the keypad tone.

"I'm sorry," she said. He turned, because he hoped a little it was an apology to him. It was not. She clutched the phone to her ear. She could be talking to Chuck, but then again her voice changed when the message was for Chuck Bass. "I never realized how awful it is for someone to break up with you without knowing why. Not until now. I'm so sorry, Nate."

Dan looked back at his book. The words blurred together when she whispered.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

And she was crying and her voice hitched. Nate was on the other line, but she was talking to someone else, because her voice shifted and Nate listened to an apology that was not for him at all.

"If I could take it back, I would. I would never have wished this on anyone, Nate."

The call ended, and she placed her phone by her head. The sniffling slowed, and the sobbing softened. He stood up and walked around the bed. The phone lit, then rang. She stirred, and he snatched up the phone and looked down at the caller id.

"Private," he read.

He had no way of knowing, but even then he made his way to the window of his dorm room. Dan pushed the curtain to the side and looked down at the street. The black stretch limousine sat across the street. Chuck Bass. Ruined her life with no explanation, and now the man had the temerity to stalk her. He glanced back at Blair, then made his way out the door.

The limo door opened. Dan's lips thinned.

"Bass!" he yelled.

The first thing he saw was a leg out the door, then the man climbed out of the limousine. Dan frowned at the build that was different from expected. The man turned to face Dan.

"Who are you?"

"Mr Humphrey." The man extended a hand. "Jack Bass. Chuck's uncle. I'm here to check on Blair."

tbc


	4. Chapter 4

**Part 4**

He himself did not understand the simple hold she had on him. She was a girl. It had been titillating to fuck her. Knowing she was his nephew's added to the thrill of the night, he had to admit, but she was hardly talented in the department. Most of the time she moved with uncertainty, almost like she did not know what she was doing, always like she was less than eager.

And he had not been offended, or disappointed. He had not expected much of the tryst. It was a simple seduction, he thought. He only needed ammunition for any future battle. When billions were at stake, a man had to be creative.

_Blair Waldorf was a girl. By all estimations she should be the most forgettable lay._

_In the New Year's Eve afterglow, he had been less than impressed. She stumbled out of bed, picked up her clothes and announced she was leaving. Jack was grateful about the coincidence that it so easy to be rid of her. He turned his back on her when she made her way to the bathroom. Fully expected her to make her way out of the suite within minutes._

_But she had not, and he considered it an intrusion that he had to open the bathroom door himself to check on her._

_It was a mistake of epic proportions._

_It was that sight of her, half-dressed, with her tear-streaked face, hunched over the sink with only her elbows supporting her. She turned her head to him and shook her head. "I don't love you," she cried. "I'm here, and I slept with you, and I don't love you."_

_And the forgettable became unforgettable._

_He drew a towel from the rack, then wrapped it around his waist. Somehow, in front of Blair Waldorf crying, the nakedness was inappropriate and uncomfortable. "Hey," he said, stepping closer to her, "you didn't do anything wrong."_

_She stared back at her reflection in the mirror, touched a spot by her collarbone that seemed raw. Blair Waldorf twisted the faucet knob and splashed cold water on the redness, then scrubbed it with the miniscule hotel soap from the sink. "What did I do?" she gasped out._

" _You were miserable and I kept your mind away from it. For a little while."_

_He stepped closer to her, because he had promised to comfort her and holding her arms seemed such a fitting way to do it._

_But he had barely touched her when she twisted away and hurriedly buttoned her clothes. "No. This was a mistake. This was a biggest mistake of my life!" she yelled. "This did not happen, Jack."_

_It must be some part of his childhood. At least that was what he imagined in the nights that followed. When he thought back to it, he had no logical reason to chase Blair Waldorf the way he did. But he watched her with Chuck and found the blind devotion stimulating._

_It must be something from his childhood, he concluded. Because pretty as he thought she was when he first laid eyes on her, he was not attracted to her until she asked him to help her find Chuck. And despite his well thought out plan of capturing her fall on film, he never did get a rise until she was drunk and crying about missing Chuck._

_He would never forget the sight of her, right before she closed the door behind her, when she apologized and pleaded, "I don't want Chuck to know. Please. You can't say a word. I'm in love with him, so please don't tell anyone about this."_

It was her fault, Jack thought. She was the one who made the forgettable so unforgettable.

And so he had fought the legal battle. From the comfort of his own company in Australia, he had schemed his way back to America. And the plan had been simple. He needed to take back what was his. He had shelved her. Long ago. It took work on his part until he decided he was in control, and prepared to take over the company that Bart had cheated him out of.

Men fall because of the women in their lives. History had proved it. Business would not acknowledge it. But it was as real as any sordid tale of lies and deceit. And for his particular goal, he had the perfect ammunition.

So he resisted the urge to create a photo essay of his favorite photographs in the world, then watched with satisfaction as Chuck fell apart.

She had made herself unforgettable, so months later he found himself following a kid from Brooklyn that he had never met before. They went up the stairs of the dormitory that reminded him a little of the college he attended. It was well below him now.

"She's in my room," Dan Humphrey explained. "Not that we're—We're not—you know, involved or—Well, she's not—"

"I know, Mr Humphrey," he responded as pleasantly as possible.

They stopped in front of a door that even Jack hesitated to touch. Dan Humphrey opened the door, and Jack stepped inside the room.

"Bad timing," Dan commented. "Looks like she's asleep."

Jack grabbed the door, then said, "I can wait. I'd like to have some privacy please." He shut the door, then glanced at the curled figure on the bed. He almost gagged at the smell hanging over the place. The doorknob twisted, but he had locked it already. He walked over to the bed and held his breath. "Blair, wake up."

She opened her eyes and paused with her half-lidded gaze. She stared at him for a long moment, almost as if trying to place him.

"Get up. We'll find a cleaner place than this," he told her.

When her senses returned to her fully, she sat up on the bed and screamed.

~o~o~o~o~

Dan cursed when the door would not open. He banged his fist on the door and demanded for Jack to open it. When there was no response, he banged louder until one of the residents from the opposite room opened his own door and yelled at him.

"I'm sorry!" Dan replied, raising his hands in a silent vow that he would not make noise again. If anyone discovered that he had a girl in his room, he was going to be kicked out of the dorm.

Dan heard the scream from inside his room, then cursed. He took his phone from his pocket and hoped the neighbor did not complain. The guy did not open the door again, and Chuck figured female screaming was generally more accepted in the dorm than a guy banging on his door.

Serena's phone was off. He paced the corridor, then decided to bite the bullet and leave a message. He called again, then waited until his call reached the voice mailbox.

"Hey Serena. I can't reach you on your cell. I need to talk to you. Do you know what the deal is with Jack Bass? He's here."

~o~o~o~o~o

"You ruined my life!" she yelled at him. Her eyes were brilliant with her tears, but nothing fell. Jack shook his head. "How dare you show your face to me? You destroyed my entire life, you bastard!"

"All I did was show Chuck something he already knew," he argued.

"Pictures, Jack? You really are a soulless bastard."

"How little do you regard yourself when your life depends on what my nephew thinks of you?" Jack demanded. He caught a notebook that Blair threw at him. "Because believe me, Blair, he's no prize."

"I hate you!" she spat out.

And expletives like those just endeared her to him even more. He really needed to see someone about that. "How quickly did he wash his hands off you? Was it the night he found the pictures?"

He knew very well that Chuck had kept her for weeks following the discovery. What he would not give to know the details of each day between the photographs and the breakup. It would make for clearer insight about Chuck—and he needed full understanding of his nephew's personality before he went about the business of taking control of Bass.

It was even more cruel, Jack thought. Those weeks. She had fully expected that all had been forgiven. Even now she wondered, and could not quite place whether or not it was the pictures that did it.

"I loved one of them in particular," Jack told her. "Did you see the one where you looked like you were in pain? I had my hand up your skirt there. Just didn't show on camera."

"Stop," she bit out.

"Let me take you home," he offered.

"No."

"Then I'll take you to your dorm. Alright? I'll keep my hands to myself."

She glared at him. "You attacked Lily. You attacked her because she screwed up your plan to get your brother's company. That's why you're here now, Jack."

"You think you know me," he said.

"You went after me because of Chuck," she reminded him. "Not because you want me. Well, there's no reason to come after me this time, Jack. Chuck and I are over," she said, in a voice so pained he wanted to take her in his arms and not fuck her.

"So why am I still here, Blair?"

And then softly, so softly that he had to lean forward to hear, she said, "I don't know what your sick, perverted mind is planning now. But leave me out of it. I'm tired, Jack. I just want to curl up and be gone."

"I could be out there selling myself to the dozen of investors that Chuck can't seem to get. I'm good at that," Jack told her. "I can be out there talking to the board while Lily's away."

"Then why aren't you?" she sighed.

"Why don't you be the one to think about that?" Jack suggested.

~o~o~o~o~

"Here you go, Chuck," Rufus said as he placed a plate in front of Chuck on the dinner table. "I'm really glad you could join us." He patted Chuck's arm, then said, "It keeps us from getting sad that Dan is away in college."

Chuck glared at the utensil, but did not retort that he was in no way an equal replacement of Daniel Humphrey. He had only joined dinner because Serena demanded that he show up.

"Well, sis?" he prompted.

Serena knew very well he was only here for updates, and if she spilled early then it would save him the trouble of wasting an hour having dinner with his stepmother's new family. Serena shook her head, but no longer went on about her automated spiel about Chuck needing to face his ex-girlfriend if he wanted updates on her.

"I saw her yesterday," she said.

There was that pang again, in his chest. He kept it at bay. "Yesterday."

"I came home late so I didn't get to tell you about it earlier."

Eric looked up from his food. Chuck ignored at arch of the younger boy's eyebrows, because he had heard the lecture from Serena. And Serena was still alive because he needed her to see Blair. Eric, not so much.

It was Eric who asked this time, in what Chuck recognized as his apology for the earlier expression. "Blair Waldorf in NYU," Eric declared. "How does she look?"

The words would be the same. Sometimes, the words hurt and Chuck did not want to hear them.

"I took pictures," she offered. Chuck flinched, because the word was traumatic now. But he needed to know, needed to see. And he hoped that Blair looked happy and healthy in those pictures.

Rufus cleared his throat, but stopped short of prohibiting cellphones at the dinner table.

Serena whipped up her phone. "Oh. The battery's dead." She stood up. "I'll charge it for a few minutes. It will be ready by the time we finish dinner," she told Chuck.

"Come back to the dinner table quickly, please," Rufus called out a reminder as she made her way out of the dining room.

Chuck continued eating while waiting for Serena to get back. He turned to Eric and asked for water, because heaven forbid that Rufus would have alcohol on the table with family present.

"If I may ask, Chuck," Rufus started, and Chuck already tensed, "why did you and Blair break up? You seem awfully interested in her business."

"No, dad. You may not ask that," Eric answered for him.

Chuck stabbed a shrimp with his fork and brought it up to his mouth. Serena made her way back to the dining room. She stopped beside the landline and dialed a number, then lazily put it on speaker. Chuck heard the echo as the speaker announced seven messages already in Serena's voicemail.

A purchase pickup reminder from a boutique.

The jeweler letting her know that her necklace clasp was fixed.

Lily checking in.

And then Dan's frantic huff. She picked up the phone and listened intently. Chuck looked up at his stepsister. Her gaze met his.

"I have to go," she said, clutching the handset to her bosom.

Rufus looked on in concern. Chuck shot up from his seat and stalked over to her, then grabbed the handset. He listened, but it was now some automated offer playing.

"Play it again," he said.

Serena's hands trembled as she reached for the keypad on the phone, then pressed her code to play back the selected message. "I need the limo," she said.

Chuck lowered the handset, then handed it to her. "I'm going," he decided. "Enough of this. This is my trip to do."

" _Sometimes I look down at my hands and they're drenched in blood," he whispered. "And I know I did it again. It's sick. And I get sick."_

" _How soon do you know that it's just a dream?"_

" _I know even before I kill her," he admitted. "And I know I'm going to kill her, and I still do it. In my head, while I'm sleeping, I'm fully aware of what's happening."_

" _You mean, you can tell it's a nightmare?"_

_He nodded, wondered what the implications were. "Sometimes I strangle her to death. One time I bashed her skull in with a rock. Last night I opened a drawer at my father's desk, over in Bass Industries. I saw the gun there, ivory handle, classic Western, hundred twenty grand collector's edition. And while I was taking it out from its case, I was thinking that it was a dream because I know my dad already sent the gun to the bank vault."_

" _What did you do next?"_

_Chuck lowered his head into his hands. "I called her on her cell and asked her to meet me at the hotel lobby for lunch." He chuckled, without humor. "She's in NYU, with back to back classes. But it was a dream, you know. She made it there on time."_

" _So you killed her."_

_He shuddered. "I brought her with me to the honeymoon suite. I had room service bring up lunch. And I handed her a glass of Dom."_

" _Did it feel real?"_

" _And then I made love to her with the curtains open and the sunlight streaming in. She likes that. It excites her." And then, without emotion, briskly, he said, "Then I shoot her right there, while she was lying on the bed."_

Oddly enough, his breath was slow, neutral. In his dreams when he was about to see her his heart rate was high and his breathing quick and shallow. He raised a hand to knock on the door, and his entire body was cold. In those nightmares, at this precise moment he would be covered in sweat.

The door swung open, and the squeaking sound it made almost seemed to come from his throat.

"Chuck?" she breathed.

She was thin, was the first thought in his head. Her mother would be delighted, but his throat closed at the way her cheeks seemed a little sunken.

His gaze drifted to the large bruise on her upper arm. It was purpling at the sides. He brought his hand up to touch it, but stopped himself inches short of her skin.

"Oh," she gasped when she noted his attention. "I was drunk. It was stupid. I'm not used to the building yet. I hit myself against the lamp outside."

She stepped aside and invited him inside. Chuck thought twice, thrice, a dozen times before stepping in. He kept a considerable distance between them as he assessed the room. The other bed was coverless, and the clothes were gone.

"Georgina left," she said. "I'm alone here now."

He sat down on the edge of the empty bed. Finally, dredging voice out of dry throat, he asked, "How have you been, Blair?"

The question seemed to surprise her. She stopped, then turned to her. "It's been hell, Chuck," she answered. Hell. He wondered exactly how she thought of hell, wondered if it was anything close to how he felt every time he woke up. "I've been calling you. And now you're here." She asked, "Why are you here, Chuck?"

He stood up, ready to go. He had seen her. And Jack was no longer there. She had gotten rid of him. She would never touch the man again. He doubted, even as he broke up with her, that she would ever consider Jack again. But her honesty then had not been the issue.

"I heard about Jack."

She thrust up her chin. "He's not here. But if I thought he was going to be the reason for you to spare me a thought again, I would have invited him over a long time ago."

"That's not fair, Blair," he said softly. "I've thought of you every day."

She closed her eyes, fought the tears from spilling. "Every day?" She opened her eyes in time to see the way he looked at her. He turned his head away. And then she was in front of him, reaching for him. Her fingertips touched his face, and he jerked away. Her lips parted in surprise. "You hate my touch that much?"

"Stay safe, Blair," he told her.

He fought the incredible urge to lean down and kiss the corner of her lips.

" _After you kill her, how do you feel?"_

_He raised his arm up and rested it at the back of the couch. He closed his eyes, then rested his knuckles against his lips. Chuck thought back to those moments. He never registered them. In the horror of the murders, he never stood around to consider after. So he looked back and remembered._

_One last breath. There was always one last breath._

_One last look. Right before her eyes closed when she had no more air. Right before his arm swung to deliver the blow. Right before the last pulse of blood from her wound._

" _I feel…" Chuck licked his lips. "That it's finished."_

" _When she's gone, it's finished?"_

" _It's finished."_

tbc


	5. Chapter 5

**Part 5**

But it had gone on too long, too far, too very much. Blair did not let it go with the same sad goodbye. When he turned to leave, she was unforgiving in the way she grasped his elbow and tugged—so he would be forced to face her when all he wanted was to forget her face.

All because the more he looked at her, the clearer she would appear to him when he crushed the life out of her tonight.

"No," she whispered, and her voice was the voice that screamed at him when he murdered her. "Not until you tell me why."

He wondered if it showed, if she saw. It would be close to impossible not to know. He never could hide from her, not even when tears threatened him and mocked him for all the lack of his control. "You don't want to know," he said quietly, almost pleadingly, proving once again that he was no match in the face of this—this—this woman.

"I'm asking you," she gritted out.

"Why can't you just do us both a favor and move on, Blair?"

He should not have said the name. Her name on his tongue. He could taste it. Taste her again.

She closed her eyes, and he thought he saw the fleeting ecstasy at the sound of her name. She took a breath, and then she admitted, "I almost forgot the sound of my name when you say it."

And he knew he could not allow more of this, longer of this. "I wish you weren't this stubborn."

And she kept her eyes closed, as if the longer she did the longer this would last. Even though it was painful, she would make it last. "That's like saying you wish I weren't me." And she was so very right. "You love me. I know you do. You just have to tell me what I did, because I'll make up for it. I swear."

"There's nothing you can do," he informed her.

And then, finally, as if she admitted her defeat, she opened her eyes and gave him the saddest look he ever saw. "Is it—"

Whatever it was she clung to now, he would allow her to believe it. It was her own answer that would convince her. "Yes," he said.

"But you forgave me that," she breathed.

Jack.

If only it were Jack, and the fucking night when she fucked him. One night, one mistake. Her one night could be lost in the endless sins he made. But it was the one she most feared, the one she truly regretted, the one she considered to be the most unforgivable.

"You slept with Jack."

And everything afterwards, the glory and the faith, the love and the belief—"I slept with Jack, and nothing between us after that could make up for it?"

"I think of you and I see him slobbering all over you," he told her. The sky was clear out, and he wished there was a thunderstorm, and lightning would strike him at the lie.

"When you think of that, will you remember that I love you?" she said to him.

Tentatively, she reached to touch his cheek, and he glimpsed the bruise on her arm. It was small, a silly little hurt, a minor accident that appeared so out of place on her skin—and it was nothing compared to what he could and had done in his dreams. He jerked away from her and knocked her arm away.

"Don't touch me," he rasped. "If you touch me, if I touch you, I swear to God, Blair, I'll hurt you."

And with those words, it was finished. Like the moment he killed her, that split second when he looked down at her face and knew she was dead—it was finished.

But she was still Blair Waldorf and in that instant he was proud of her. Her palm connected with his cheek, and it stung. It stung like a bitch and showed him she was not dead. Not all of her.

He held to his hot cheek with one cool hand and looked at her from the corner of his eyes.

Chuck waited for her to demand that he leave. Instead, she met his gaze with a set one of her own. When she did not speak, he was horribly aware that they could stay here, locked in this impasse for hours. For a split second he told himself how different it would be, how wonderful even, if he could stay.

"Then why did you come at all, Chuck?"

He fought his own stupid, illogical, transparent emotions. "Because I wanted to catch you two with my own eyes," he said slowly.

Her lips thinned. She drew back, and it was almost physical. "Well," she said, "tough luck. Maybe next time you should try again."

He stalked towards the door to leave. His hand closed around the cold knob and twisted it. Before he closed the door, he turned to her. Right at that moment she turned away. And he left.

" _How did you sleep last night?"_

_Chuck crossed his legs, then leaned back on the couch. "My hand was around her neck, and I had her up against the wall. Her feet didn't touch the ground, and she kicked like hell." He paused. Swallowed. Chuck closed his eyes, in that masochistic way he had when he forced himself to remember. "I can hear her gasp."_

" _So you finished it again."_

_And then, with a gesture that surprised her, he said, "No. My fingers just—" He glanced down at his fingers, at his palm. "I released her. And she slid down to the floor. She was crying, just sobbing, like a kid. That's how I left her."_

" _You left her alive."_

_And even with the best training she could not hide the surprise in her voice. Chuck caught the hitch in her statement and focused on it. "I left her alive."_

The smell was overpowering, heady.

Blair Waldorf opened the door and Nate's eyebrows shot up at the sight in front of him. The room was an explosion of flowers. She blinked up at him, flustered at the unexpected arrival. Nate frowned at the sight. She stepped aside to let him step inside. He looked around him and saw the flowers that filled the small space.

"Wow," was all he could say.

Lilies. Pure white lilies. All around him there were lilies and they were sublime. There was not a streak of any other color on those petals. Atop every table, on every cabinet, even on the bed there were lilies. And then, like an odd pattern black roses popped here and there in a disturbing sea of perfect lilies.

"I didn't know you were coming." She took her coat from the chair and slid it on.

"After that phone call, you really didn't think I'd come."

And the look on her face told him exactly that. Then she said to him, "Get me out of here."

So he did, and they walked briskly away as if escaping from a burning building. Nate placed a reassuring hand on her back and she flinched. And he grabbed her hand and stopped her, because they were walking too fast, too far. "What's going on, Blair?" he asked.

She shook her head, and through their time together he had slowly learned to read her the way he never could when they were still happy. "Just… walk. Walk, Nate. I can't stay in the room. The smell—it's too much. I can't breathe."

"What?" he said lightly, letting out a small laugh. "Those flowers? We can get rid of them." He jerked his head back towards the dorm. "Let's go."

But she stood her ground and dug her heels. "No!"

"Who are the flowers from, Blair?"

She shook her head. "I don't know," she whispered, and he could tell she did not. "Let's just leave."

And it was then that he began to truly be concerned. The laughter fled from his eyes. He grasped her shoulders, then held tightly enough so that she would feel some hurt and look at him. "Did something happen in your room last night?"

She tried to extricate herself, but failed. "Have coffee with me. Or we can go to the library. Or shopping."

When he received the call, he had thought it was a drunken call. Blair had been known to dial drunk in those few occasions in high school, and a sobbing apology had been just the perfect scenario. Nate had taken a car to NYU to poke a little fun, only to be greeted by this. "Coffee," he decided, because it had the best chance of discovery.

When they were seated in the small college coffeehouse, Nate brought her an espresso and sipped his own. He watched her blow at the cup and take a little sip of the brew.

"About your call," he began.

Her lashes lowered, and she hid her eyes from him. "I meant it. I'm sorry."

"I'd be more overwhelmed if I didn't know this has more to do with Chuck than with me," Nate said with a small smile.

She glared at him, and Nate could only stare at her lips that pouted and glistened just a little. She could not know what those lips looked like to a man who had tried so many but always ended up staring at the pair that left him a little too early. "This isn't a game, Nate. This isn't some cat and mouse chase."

"It didn't feel like a game when you dumped me on the dance floor at my senior prom," he said softly, and as expected her face fell a million miles. "Look, I'm sorry I brought it up," he told her. "But you brought it up when you called me."

She eyed his hand when it covered her own on top of the table.

"You realized how much it hurt," Nate continued. "So I know that cry for help is not about me. It's about Chuck."

"It's unfair. A breakup without any explanation." She looked him in the eye, and said, "Didn't you ever wonder?"

"I'll be honest with you." And he saw her prepare for a blow of guilt so devastating and destructive. But he was not there to give it to her. He said, "What you feel right now, and what I felt back then aren't the same."

"I didn't give you any reason," she said, her voice trailing off.

"Come on, Blair. Let's be honest. I know that you knew—I'd known for weeks before the prom." He chuckled. "Hell, I knew since before we started dating. So yeah, it's different from yours."

And then she asked him the question he always dreaded she would ask. But the time had come, and had no escape. So he braced himself for the impact.

"Why did he break up with me, Nate?" she whispered.

And he returned, because he had to believe she would respect him enough to allow it, with a deflection. "Who are the flowers from, Blair?"

And her answer sent a cold thread of chill down his spine.

"They were all around me when I woke up."

He dropped her off at her class, and she wrapped her arms around him before they parted. Nate breathed in the smell of her hair, because it was familiar and he recently had little chance to do so. He kissed her on the forehead, and she closed her eyes and sighed, and for one second it reminded him that once upon a time she loved him.

Before they parted, he glanced inside the yawning auditorium where the best and the brightest could get lost in the crowd. This was safe, and this had become to her a haven. Here she could fade away the way she had always been afraid to do. But now—now anonymity best served her.

There was a girl, or two, who watched them with jealousy, and he basked in the attention enough to hold her just a little bit longer to see how the girl would react. He winked at the girl, who blushed at his bold move.

Nate would find himself getting lost in NYU a few more times this semester, he thought.

On the fourth row, Dan Humphrey raised a hand and waved, so Nate nodded at him. A few rows up and Nate glimpsed a blonde man who watched quietly, face expressionless.

He walked away from the auditorium after Blair had made her way to sit beside Dan Humphrey. Nate took his phone from his pocket, then called.

The distinctive series of beeps was not lost on him. It sounded in the quiet, empty corridor. He raised his head and turned towards the direction of the noise, only to find Chuck standing at the end of the hall. Nate dropped the phone back into his pocket and strode towards his friend. He grabbed the lapels of Chuck's jacket, then jerked him forward.

"What the hell, man?"

Chuck locked his jaw, did not respond.

"You're going to drive her crazy!" Nate spat. "Is that what you want, Chuck? Do you want her to go insane like you?"

And Chuck answered, and he drew it long, and quietly, and even the sadness would not pierce through the haze of petrified fury that had long since paralyzed him since he imagined how Blair slept through the intrusion in her bedroom. "All I've done is try and keep her safe."

"Then what are you still doing in her life?"

Chuck drew in air, then rested his gaze on Nate. "It isn't easy," he said.

"Then it's hard," Nate said, "but you do it. This was your decision, so fucking do it and don't play with her head like this." With a huff of frustration, Nate released Chuck and strode away.

"I'm doing my best!" Chuck called after him.

Nate stopped. "Did you go to her room last night?" he demanded.

The guilt was right there on his face. The evidence crept like sunstroke from his neck to his ears. "I needed to see her."

Nate shook his head. "Then you are even more of a selfish bastard than I thought."

"Where are you going?"

"To clean up your mess," Nate said. It would take more than the rest of the morning, he knew, more than the afternoon. But he could start with the flowers. White lilies and black roses. Sick bastard.

" _Should I celebrate now?" he said, his voice tight. "Should I throw a fucking party that I left her slumped on the floor, gasping for breath. The bruises around her neck were shaped like my fingers!"_

" _You left her alive. Consider that, Chuck."_

_Countless nights of murder and then one night he left her fighting for her life, and it was the most special thing in the world. He hated therapy. Hated it with every fiber of his being._

" _Fantastic. She's alive. This time I managed to stop a second before she suffocated. What a brilliant success," he drawled. "What do you want me to do now?"_

_And she cocked her head to the side. She lifted her pencil from the pad, then tapped the eraser at the end on her lips. She considered his question, then informed him, "It's time to let her know."_

" _Hell. No."_

_He shook his head, because really—How do you describe what he had seen? How does one share what he had done?_

_How do you turn 'I love you' into this?_

She returned to her seat after the group activities wrapped up and the professor rattled off the reading assignment for the next session. Dan picked up her books and handed them to her. Blair grabbed the stack and Dan saw the folded piece of paper flutter from the bottom of her book and drift down to the floor.

"What's that?"

Dan knelt and reached for the paper, which was blown by the air conditioner. He shook his head and went down on all floors, then caught the paper from under the seat before him.

"Someone's got a heavy hand," Dan commented when he felt the indentations on the back of the note. He handed it to Blair, who unfolded the note and read through the statement. He heard the sharp intake of breath, and spied the slight tremor of her hand. "Hey what is it?" he asked, expecting some nasty remark from one of Georgie's last remaining college friends. Dan took the paper. His eyes narrowed.

'Who was that guy, Blair?'

She forced a smile. "Who can blame them?" she said rhetorically. "Nate's always been a pretty boy." Blair looked up and scanned through the faces in the class, all one hundred eighty of them. She swallowed. "So someone took an interest in Nate. Wish she'd written down her number so I can have Nate ask her out."

"I'm going to keep this," he told her, and slid the note inside his pocket.

"Knock yourself out," she answered. Blair made her way out the room, and glanced behind her and around so many times Dan wondered how they made it out of the room in time for the next class to begin.

"You should talk to someone about this," he suggested.

"Why?"

Dan frowned. "What do you mean, why?" He had learned his lesson with Georgina. He was never going to let anything like this slip so easily, would not let it be ignored.

"What can they do to me, write me a million little notes until I get irritated?" she responded lightly.

Dan caught her elbow. She stopped, turned to face him. He told her somberly, "People get killed over things like this."

"Is that it?" she replied softly. "You are so dramatic, Humphrey."

tbc


End file.
